


An Even Four

by vials



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Suicide, hi I'm rising from the ashes to throw angst all over another fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: He had found that, in his experience – coming to terms with the decision was the agonising part. When it was finally time to act, it was invariably an easy decision; almost a relief.Or, Henry Winter continues to deal with his problems very badly.





	An Even Four

It was late when Henry reached the door, giving it three sharp raps and then taking a half-step back, his heels hanging over the edge of the step. He couldn’t honestly say he was expecting much, but it would be worse to not try at all. If the drive all the way up to Francis’s house and the subsequent change of mind and long drive back hadn’t managed to shake the idea, it was probably not going away any time soon; better to get it all over with, whatever _it_ was going to turn out to be. 

He had waited long enough that, had it been anyone else, he would have given up. He found himself shivering slightly, resisting the urge to pull his jacket around himself; really he should just leave, go back to the car and go home and while he knew he wouldn’t sleep he was sure he could benefit from being away from it all for a while, somewhere quiet where no one could stumble across him. Despite the fact that it was the most logical thing to do he couldn’t make his feet move; he was rooted to the spot, staring at the door as though if he stared at it hard enough it would relent. 

When the door did open, abruptly and seemingly out of nowhere, Henry had to take a moment to register it. He had been so zoned out, so helplessly frozen there, that for a moment he feared it was a hallucination born of wishful thinking. His second shock came when he saw that Julian didn’t look one bit as though he had been interrupted from sleep; he was still wearing the same clothes from earlier, now that Henry let himself remember it in any detail again, and rather than sleep-based confusion on his face there was something that looked more like mild irritation. Henry could hardly stand it. 

“You’re very determined tonight,” he said, and Henry let his eyes flicker from Julian’s face to the small spyhole on the door. He supposed Julian had been watching him for the entire time, but for some reason he felt no embarrassment over it.

“I need to talk to you,” Henry said, the words an effort. It occurred to him that it was the first thing he had said out loud for hours, which while not unusual for him wasn’t usually accompanied by a constant lump in his throat that was audible now, making his voice sound oddly low, perhaps even raspy, like he was recovering from a cough.

“I don’t know what you think you could possibly say.”

Henry looked at him for a long moment, suddenly finding himself unable to speak at all. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight movement in Julian’s hand, as though he might close the door, or if it even happened at all, but either way it shocked him enough that he was able to find his voice again, if only briefly.

“Julian. Please.”

There was once a time where Henry would have been ashamed at how weak his voice sounded. There was once a time where his voice would never have sounded that way to begin with. Neither of these points crossed his mind. He could only continue staring, all too aware of how little power he had over the situation; all too aware that if Julian decided to close the door on him now, there would be nothing he could do.

For reasons which he would never be able to explain, Julian didn’t. He looked at him for another impossibly long moment, and then sighed and opened the door slightly wider, stepping to the side.

“Make it quick, Henry.”

The second Henry was inside, he realised that something was strange. The house didn’t have the stillness that should accompany it at this time of night; nor did it have the heaviness that Henry had come to associate with places wrought with sleeplessness. The house felt awake, and more so than that it felt _busy_ , as though Henry had interrupted a lot of movement and now everything was suddenly, impatiently still. He looked around himself, trying to place what it could be, and almost gave up before Julian closed the door loudly behind him and he half-turned, seeing then that next to the door were several large bags. 

“You’re leaving.”

The words sounded empty, which surprised him. He thought that those words, out of any of them, would have carried something in them. The light in the hallway was low and Henry couldn’t make out any detail on Julian’s face through the gloom; he wanted to imagine that Julian at least looked a little guilty, a little ashamed, but something told him that was only wishful thinking. 

“I don’t think that’s relevant to our discussion, Henry,” he said briskly. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Where are you going?” Henry asked. “You can’t just –”

“I can’t just leave?” Julian demanded. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Henry stood silently, having no point to argue. That had been what he was going to say, though hearing it said to him by Julian, standing just in front of the door with his arms folded and his words laced with something that sounded terrifyingly like disgust, Henry could hear just how pathetic it sounded. 

“What about the others?” Henry eventually said, dumbly. 

“What about them?”

“If you leave, they won’t have—they’ll have to—” Henry broke off, reaching up and pushing his glasses up slightly so he could pinch at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t tell if the growing pressure in his head was another oncoming migraine or simply a result of all the stress, but it had grown all the more distracting and finding words was almost impossible. He let go, his glasses falling back into place. “Their majors,” he eventually managed. “They don’t have anything else. If you leave, they’ll all have to drop out.”

“To be blunt, that’s the least of my concern,” Julian said simply, and Henry couldn’t remember a time where the man had been this impossible to talk to. 

“They don’t deserve to have their lives turned upside down because of a mistake I made.”

“Don’t you start, Henry.” To his surprise, Julian laughed. “If you think you’re going to come to me and heroically take the blame, I can tell you now that it won’t work. As far as I’m concerned, you’re all co-conspirators. With the farmer? Maybe there was some room there, some grey area I might have accepted. But with Bunny?”

“Julian—”

“You were all there, weren’t you?”

“Julian, it was my idea.”

“But you were all there?”

“Do you think for a moment they would have said no to me?” Henry snapped. It was like whatever block had been preventing his words had finally vanished, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. “Do you think for one moment that any of them would have even considered it? I don’t pretend to know what was going on but I’ve seen it before – you know it too! Do you think there’s a single thing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t do? Do you think I could say no to you? And think – did you ever intend to have that kind of influence? Did you set out to gain it, or was it just bestowed upon you by me? Perhaps you realised it at some point, I don’t know. Perhaps you never intended to abuse it, perhaps you never held much weight to it until it was too late. But you’re not an idiot, and I know you know it. It was the same thing for me. The way they looked to me, they way they had such _unshakeable_ faith in me. And I lead them astray. That is on _me_.” He paused for a moment, finding he was shaking lightly, his shirt suddenly sticking to his back. “The difference between you and me,” he added, feeling oddly out of breath, “is that I’m taking responsibility for my part in it, and you’re pretending that your hands are clean.”

Somehow Julian didn’t seem overly moved by the words; Henry felt a flicker of frustration beginning to grow into anger as the silence stretched on. It was not an uncomfortable silence but rather one of those silences that Henry had fallen for too many times, when Julian would simply _wait_ and Henry, loyal as he was, stupid as he was, would fill it with whatever Julian wanted to hear. He wouldn’t fall for it again.

“Is that all?” Julian eventually asked, and Henry took a steadying breath, shaking his head.

“Are you just going to pretend like it’s not true?” he asked. His eyes had adjusted to the light as much as they were going to; he could make out Julian’s expression, which was painfully neutral. “Are you just going to leave and act like this was nothing to do with you? That you don’t have a responsibility to the others for what we lead them into?”

“Henry.” Julian sighed. “I believe you might be guilty of the very same thing you’re accusing me of doing. It seems you’ve severely misinterpreted what happened here. Nowhere did I tell you to murder two men.”

“You knew the risks.”

“I told you to be safe. I told you to attempt such a thing in an isolated area. Yes, nothing is truly risk free. But I encouraged no recklessness and truth be told, it was simply bad luck that you roamed so far and came into contact with another person. Perhaps I could have accepted that, had you been honest with me. Would I have been alright with it? Well, of course not. I doubt any of you were, either. But I would not have found it reprehensible. Murdering your own friend, however, is another story entirely.” 

“There was no other choice. Do you think we wanted to do that, either?”

“To aid in the search for him,” Julian continued, as though Henry hadn’t spoken. “To act so concerned, to help look for him while knowing where he lay dead. To show your face at his funeral! My God, to bear his coffin! Henry, the level of _evil_ required for such a thing—”

“What choice did I have?” Henry asked loudly. “It would have been suspicious to not look for him. His father asked me to carry the coffin, to give a reading. Do you think I did so easily? Do you think I enjoyed it?”

“All this time I thought you were sick with the grief of it but now I know it must have been the guilt,” Julian said, shaking his head. “Henry, you cannot possibly ask me to stand by that. You cannot possibly hold me responsible.”

“I’ll leave,” Henry said quickly. “I’ll leave, and the rest of you can continue on with it. The others don’t deserve this.”

“The others are your co-conspirators,” Julian said firmly, “and I don’t think I could stand by that, either.”

“I didn’t give them a choice.”

“If you felt that strongly about it, Henry, I’m sure you could have worked something out. You’re a smart young man. If you really felt as though you had to murder your close friend, I’m sure you could have shielded the others from your deed. It was a good cover story. Nobody is any the wiser. If Bunny had _fallen_ while just in your presence, the others would have likely not questioned it. Provide yourself with an alibi and you would have had nothing to worry about. God knows why you dragged them all into it.”

“It wasn’t that simple, Julian.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I’m sure you had your reasons for murdering him.”

“I did, and I’ve explained them to you at length.”

“Which leaves me wondering what more you want from this conversation, Henry. You’ve explained, I have listened. What would you like? For me to pretend that this never happened, perhaps?”

“I want you to rethink your part in all this,” Henry said firmly. “I want you to only act when you’ve taken a look at the situation in its entirety and realised that you might not be as uninvolved as you think. You weren’t physically there, but do you really think you can treat us with such contempt when you consider the events as a whole? You act as though you had absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“The only thing I am guilty of is trusting you too much, Henry. That, I suppose, is my mistake. I thought you would be capable of keeping things under control; I trusted you to remain rational in whatever aftermath you found yourself in.” Julian gave him a thin smile, one which no longer reached his eyes. “I will admit fault there. I overestimated you.”

Had Henry not known Julian better he might have been able to accept it. He had known him for too long, however, to ignore the jagged edge to the words; the disappointment, the determination to let Henry know how far he had fallen in his estimations. Henry took another deep breath and nodded, letting the breath out slowly. 

“I suppose that’s a start,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Perhaps this will be a lesson for both of us.”

“Perhaps,” Julian said, though he didn’t sound at all convinced. “It’s late, Henry. I don’t think continuing this discussion will be beneficial for either of us.”

“No. I am inclined to agree. If I could ask you for one simple thing first, I need to make a phone call.”

Julian paused for a moment, watching him, and then waved a hand to the table at the side of the hall. “By all means.”

Henry moved stiffly over to the phone, trying to steady his hands as he picked up the receiver and dialled. The phone rang for some time until a strange voice picked up – female – and then told him to hold for a moment. A few seconds later, Camilla’s voice was on the line, heavy with sleep.

“Hello?”

“Camilla.”

“Henry! What’s – well, I don’t suppose the time means much, does it?”

“No. Camilla, I’m terribly sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What do you mean?” He heard her shifting in bed, sitting up. “What are you talking about?”

He could hear a sudden note of panic in her voice and wondered, briefly, if she knew what he was thinking. It wouldn’t surprise him. Out of everyone, he supposed she would be the most likely. 

“Henry, where are you? Can you get here? Can I come to you? I can call a cab –”

“Camilla,” Henry said, firmly, and she fell silent. “I love you.”

He didn’t wait to see what she said, if anything. He placed the phone down, shockingly carefully for how weak his arm suddenly felt. He could feel Julian was looking at him, likely in some form of confusion, though he said nothing. Henry turned to face him, taking a few steps closer before he stopped, barely able to feel his legs. 

“I loved you, too,” he said blankly, and Julian stared at him in unmistakeably shocked silence for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“There’s really no need for these melodramatics, Henry.” 

“I did,” Henry insisted. “You can’t tell me that you never noticed. I wouldn’t believe it for an instant.” He slipped his hand into his jacket. His finger felt cold through his shirt. “I really am sorry about all this, Julian.”

“This is beginning to become a little concerning.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Whatever Julian was about to say was forgotten the second he saw the gun in Henry’s hand, pulled from his waistband and now aimed at him with what Henry found was unexpected ease. He had found that, in his experience – coming to terms with the decision was the agonising part. When it was finally time to act, it was invariably an easy decision; almost a relief. 

“Henry.” Julian’s voice was flat with disbelief. “Think about this.”

“I have. I’m very sorry.”

“Henry, _please_ –”

Henry fired the gun twice, once from where he was standing and the second from directly above where Julian had ended up on the ground, a red stain already blooming across the front of his shirt. Thankfully the wound preoccupied him enough that he didn’t see Henry approach him for the second shot; it clipped through the top of his head before he had any chance to realise it, and quite suddenly Henry was alone in a house now filled with the unmistakeable stillness of death, the silence pressing in at him from all sides with an intensity that felt claustrophobic. His ears rang from the shots and for a moment he felt outside himself, as though he were floating, and then as abruptly as the feeling had come it vanished, leaving him suddenly all too aware of the scene before him, of the spray of blood on the wall and partially over the door, of Julian’s still form slumped at his feet.

Briefly, he asked himself why he had done it. He couldn’t think of an answer, even though he knew he had had one up until that point – the whole drive back with the gun in his waistband, the subconscious knowledge that the reason he had driven to Francis’s house was to retrieve the gun and not for any of the other reasons he had told himself. He had understood why he was going to end up here right up until the moment he found himself standing there, and then it had all left him.

His breath caught in his throat. Henry tore his eyes away from Julian’s body and raised the gun again. It was warm against his temple. The answer he had been so sure of still wouldn’t come to him, and the silence was the loudest thing he had ever heard. He barely heard the gunshot.


End file.
